


Now to See in Full

by Pygmy Puff (ppuff)



Series: Afterlife [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Afterlife, Epilogue, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Memories, Reunion, seriously fluff abounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1855531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ppuff/pseuds/Pygmy%20Puff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an epilogue/sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1692551?show_comments=true&view_full_work=true">Watching You from This Side of Heaven</a>, filling a request for Javert's reunion with his mother. But Valjean insists on inserting himself into the fic so it turned into something much bigger than a meet-and-greet scene.</p><p>Jean Valjean takes Javert to see his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now to See in Full

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, KingCroweOfCamelot, for feeding me with the idea and amissie_valvert for seconding the idea! I didn't know I wanted to write this story until you suggested it.
> 
> Readers, be warned, this story is 3,700+ words of fluff. Really, I don't think I've ever written so much fluff in such high concentration before. Especially when the fandom in question is Les Misérables. A fic in which everyone is happy? Who would've thunk... ;-)

Javert walks side by side with Valjean, taking in the sight of heaven that is no longer a blank canvas of empty space but a more vibrant, more glorious version of everything that exists on earth. The trees here are sturdier, the grass greener. Animals no longer carry the title of predators or endure their lot as preys. Javert snorts as they come across a sight torn straight from the pages of scripture—a lamb grazing alongside a wolf and a leopard nuzzling with a goat.

Valjean laughs. “The first time I saw the animals, I gaped through a lion’s entire meal of grass.” He points to an unfamiliar creature. “That over there, I’ve been told, is called a koala. And the black and white cub that looks like a bear is called a panda.”

“Curious,” Javert says as he observes each of those strange animals eating its own meal of odd-looking leaves that heaven has provided just for them. “And the rats, the mosquitoes? Do they continue to exist?”

Valjean scratches at his chin as if this question has never occurred to him. Even in death, Valjean still isn’t the most observant of men, and Javert smiles at the thought, glad that one of his fears has been proven false and heaven doesn’t conform all souls into identical, bland beings. If Valjean is willing to guide him around heaven, then there remain plenty of things for them to discover together, perhaps requiring both Javert’s eye for details and Valjean’s constant sense of wonder that knows to search for things in the most unexpected places.

“I do recall seeing insects flying about, but I do not believe I’ve ever been bitten,” Valjean answers after some moments of thought. The seriousness with which he considers Javert’s question can be termed as nothing other than endearing, from the slight frown on his face to the unconscious tightening of his hand over Javert’s. “And can you believe it, Javert, that I have never thought to look for rats in this place? You recall the Gorbeau House, do you not? I would not be exaggerating if I told you Cosette and I lived among the company of rats when we boarded there. And yet when I moved into my house here, I didn’t think to look for rats.”

As if trying to refute Valjean, a rat-like creature darts out of a bush and into the path, rises on its hind legs while twitching its nose at its two observers, before it scurries away toward the other side of the path.

“That’s not a rat,” Valjean insists, ignoring the smirk cast his way, “it can hop like a hare. And females carry their young in a pouch. Believe me Javert—I’ve seen it!”

“I believe you,” Javert says, meaning his words even as he tries—and succeeds—in making himself sound the exact opposite. He is grateful that heaven allows him to jest, and more grateful for the sight of Valjean looking momentarily flustered.

He fails to hold back a chuckle. “I believe you,” he repeats in a gentler tone. This time, he is rewarded with a beaming countenance. He briefly wonders since when have his opinions of Valjean come to hold so much weight for the man.

They walk into a residential area, and Javert notices that, like plants and animals, the houses also exude an air of incorruptibility. But they look no different from the built structures on earth. In fact, all of the houses they’re looking at appear to be man-made.

“Did you build your own house?” he asks.

“My house? No, it was available for occupancy after a team of carpenters and architects built a number of new houses shortly before I arrived. They warned me that it was their first attempt, but it’s perfect. You’ll agree when you see it.” Valjean’s lips curve into a smile as if he wants nothing more than to have Javert visit him. He reminds himself that this isn’t the reclusive Madeleine living in fear of discovery anymore. Valjean is by nature an extremely generous person. Of course he would open his door to everybody.

“The team went on to design spectacular homes,” Valjean continues. “If you come across any architecturally wondrous house, it would be one of their latest creations. Perhaps you will get to live in one of them!” Valjean exclaims, his smile now tinged with excitement as he contemplates the possibilities on Javert’s behalf. Javert doesn’t know how purchases are made in heaven, though from the way Valjean describes this team of house builders, their interest seems to be solely on designing and making new homes, not to sell them.

Valjean points to a house with a red door that they are about to pass. “If a house has a key attached to the door, like this one, then it is available for occupancy. But there’s no hurry in choosing your house. You’ll know it when you see the right one. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you need.”

Javert glances at Valjean to see if there is any change in emotion on his face; he doesn’t find any. The hand that is holding his is still relaxed despite a sure grip. Valjean has brought up their cohabitation as if it is the most sensible thing in the world.

They are now in the heart of a residential area, and something tells Javert that they are close. At this thought, the peace and contentment that were coursing through him moments ago have disappeared, leaving his blood feeling cold. He suddenly finds it difficult to match Valjean’s steps, to mask his face so that none of his growing apprehension would show.

He isn’t ready to meet his mother. No, not after so many years of non-interaction. What is he supposed to say? He racks his mind and can only come up with a handful of ways to apologize. Perhaps if he alternates through ‘I apologize’ and ‘pardon me,’ he can cover his sins through his teenaged years. Or maybe he should stick to ‘I’m sorry’ and let that dominate the recounting of the four decades of his life since he’s deserted her.

The shudder in his mind manifests itself in trembling limbs, and Javert is glad Valjean’s hand is holding his, an anchor of calm amid a sea of turbulent thoughts.

They stop walking. Valjean senses his unease. “You don’t have to meet her today if you’re not ready,” he reassures, “I’m sure she’ll understand if you need a few days to yourself.”

Javert shakes his head. “No, then I will never be ready.” It pains him that his mother expects to be ignored until Javert somehow deigns to see her. Has she resigned herself to being forever lower than gutter wretches in Javert’s eyes? A small voice inside Javert reminds him that’s exactly how he has treated her in life. He pushes that voice away. He has been granted eternity for this very reason, to make reparation for his sins; he should not dwell on his past. “I do desire to see her. I simply don’t know what I should say.”

Valjean’s hand moves up to his shoulder in a gesture of support. “It will be difficult, but it will also be surprisingly easier than you may believe.” He adds, “Remember Petit Gervais, the boy I stole from? We met shortly after he arrived. It... he gave me the healing I needed.”

The image of Jean Valjean at his worst flashes across his mind. That man has faded more and more with time, and Javert can truthfully say that not a trace of him now remains in the perfect man next to him.

The hand on his shoulder gives a squeeze. “If you’re sure about this, then I shall leave you here. Her house is the blue one right there, before the end of the block. The door is set to recognize you and let you in.”

Javert nods.

“I'll see you soon?”

Javert gives him a small smile. He is very glad to have Valjean bring him this far. But the rest of the distance, he must walk alone. Not permitting any pauses that may hold him back, Javert squares his shoulders and forces his leaden feet to march toward the blue house.

-

His mother’s house can be described as everything that Javert’s memory of his childhood prison cell was not. The first word that comes to his mind is _home_. At the thought, a feeling of warmth washes over him, and his brain is now coming up with descriptions such as _safe_ and _happy_. In life, when a home seemed to have always eluded them and both mother and son knew nothing of safety and happiness, Javert knows the instant he steps inside that this place is the ultimate affirmation of the desires of his mother’s heart.

He is passing through a sitting room. The space is not large, but it is welcoming. A plush-looking blue couch contrasts nicely with the white of the wall closest to the door. From its spacious look, Javert guesses it can comfortably seat three people. Carved out of the far wall is a fireplace, which, though unlit, whispers its soft invitation for guests to sit in one of the two rocking chairs in front of it and to simply enjoy the peaceful presence of the hearth. He trails his eyes to the mantel. It is lined from one end to the other with rows of picture frames. Photos of his mother and himself as a boy; in many of them, he is sleeping.

These are memories made into photos, Javert realizes, his mother’s most cherished moments of the two of them. The realization squeezes at his heart, and he knows that no amount of reparation would be able to give his mother what she probably most wants, new photos of Javert from ages nine to his adult years.

No new photos from him, that is. His eyes lock onto a young man in uniform, standing tall and proud, with an almost-smile on his face. It is a photo of Javert the Toulon Guard, taken from the perspective of someone gazing up from below, and Javert doesn’t need to ask who it is that has given his mother this particular memory. He looks so young and proud in that picture, a boy no older than twenty-five, so sure of his calling as the Servant of the Law but not yet blinded in his maniacal devotion to have hardened his heart against the world. The photo feels wrong to be there on the mantel; no one should cast a look at this Javert and think him worthy enough to be thus enframed. If he is honest with himself, he is at a loss in the knowledge that at least two people find him at that moment of his life to be beautiful. But heaven is not a place for regrets. If the photo brings joy to his mother, then Javert will learn to see the worth of this memory and be sure to thank Valjean later.

Speaking of Valjean… He turns his attention to other pictures and is unsurprised to see a photo of his mother and Valjean—a recent one, taken in heaven—occupying a prominent position on the right side edge of the mantel. M. Madeleine was well known as a visitor of widows and caretaker of orphans. It is only natural that, in heaven, Jean Valjean would become a widow’s friend. Javert walks closer. Valjean in his glorious heavenly body, he has already seen. But his mother—if she is indeed the stunningly beautiful woman smiling next to Valjean…

“I didn’t think you plan to take lunch here today, Monsieur Jean. I thought you were going to meet –”

Javert turns.

Even in this place where time exists only to be stretched and bent, he feels the world has stopped around him. The woman before his eyes, his mother, is infinitely more beautiful than the depiction in the photo. Heaven has given her back her youth, her innocence (never fully lost, Javert reminds himself, not when it was willingly given up for the sake of love). Her olive skin has taken on the hue of heaven’s glowing light. Her hair, black and full, is tied back exactly the same way Javert remembers it as a boy. Her clothing is simple—blue, like her house and the couch, and Javert belatedly realizes that he has never asked his mother what her favorite color is, though it is not difficult to surmise—but her radiance comes from the outward wearing of her love and selflessness that far surpasses the most elegant evening gown, fully visible for all to see. And if her virtues render her more stunning than Queen Esther, then the smile that is now spreading on her face can rival the most magnificent of heaven’s cherubim. Javert allows himself to stare, to let the love he has failed to show her in life to swell his heart.

“Mother.”

“Javert. Y-You’re here.”

He doesn’t get to launch into a single one of his litany of apologies—arms enfold him in the blink of an eye. Unlike Valjean’s embrace, which is like an anchor that grounds him through every real or perceived turmoil, his mother’s hug uproots everything he thought he knew about himself and sends his heart and mind racing. Each tightening of her arms shouts of utter and exuberant joy, a far cry from the mere acceptance that Javert was expecting. The wetness on his left shoulder from his mother’s tears doesn’t merely absolve him of guilt. No, Javert feels like a parched patch of soil, long forgotten to have seeds planted in him, that is finally lavished with spring rain and blessed with the promises of life. He didn’t think anything can grow from his heart, had believed that the absence of pride and malice is the best that heaven can offer him. But as he clutches onto his mother—when has she become the one to steady him?—Javert dares to believe in more, in the possibility that something good and new can sprout from a love he long thought to be destroyed by his sins when he deserted his mother.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, mother. I’m sorry for abandoning you. I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you when I should have seen the very best that you are. I failed to return your love. I was foolish, no, I was heartless, to have left you in the middle of the night and never return –”

A finger presses against his lips, a gentle balm that takes away the sting of Javert’s harsh words. _Hush_ , the finger says, soothes, a command for him to never bring up his past sins again. Javert obeys; he finds he can no longer push his words past the lump that is forming in his throat.

“Javert –” How his name can still be said through a smile, Javert doesn’t know. But the smile is there, on his mother’s face, in her voice and in her eyes. “Oh Javert, look at you. You’ve grown to be such a handsome man.”

His mother looks up earnestly at him, and Javert bends down to let her plant a kiss on his cheek before she pulls away.

“Are you in the mood to eat, Javert? You’ve probably realized that we don’t feel hunger here, but we can enjoy food whenever we fancy. I was just preparing something simple, since I didn’t think your Jean was coming for lunch today. There is enough for two.”

 _Your Jean_. What can she possibly mean by that?

His mother smiles. “I’m so happy you found someone. I last knew of your whereabouts when you transferred out of the galleys and into the Toulon police station. I lost track of you after that. But there wasn’t a single day when I didn’t wish for you to find happiness, to find love.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, and so he follows his mother into the kitchen. His mind wanders to an hour ago, when Valjean welcomed him into heaven, when Valjean had kissed him back. He didn’t doubt Valjean’s sincerity then, just as he doesn’t doubt his mother’s joy in seeing him now. But the absence of doubt doesn’t mean the absence of fear. Javert knows he still lives as though he is a gutter boy in Toulon who treats every gesture of kindness with suspicion, as if ‘good’ is the precursor of inevitable betrayal and ridicule.

He has love; there are people who love him here. But a part of him still thinks himself unworthy, still believes he will one day lose their love.

His mother hands him a cup. “Here, have some tea.”

The cup is red, and Javert is reminded again of his first visit to heaven, in his dreams, when he still wore a red hat. He was nearing the end of a journey at the time, and heaven had presented him with the promise of another. _Not yet_ , he was told when he’d tried to set foot on that new journey. Over the past hour, the ‘not yet’ has become ‘now,’ but this means he now has a new set of things to learn.

“I still have fear, mother,” Javert admits, confesses like his eight-year-old self telling his mother he was afraid of the new prison guard.

His mother sits down beside him. “Then let us love you,” she says. “You’ve lived a hard life, Javert. Just rest, and learn how to receive love. If you do this, I promise you—you won’t be afraid anymore. And one day, you’ll feel so much love inside of you that you will want to start giving out love. More tea?”

Javert nods, and his mother rises to fetch the kettle. He stares down at his empty red mug. In this new journey, he’s back to being _not yet_. But like the mug, it won’t remain empty for long. The wellspring in his heart will fill up. And when it becomes so full one day that the love rising deep from his soul spills over, Javert knows, there will be no more uncertainty, no more fear.

“I love you, Javert,” his mother says when they are once again sitting at the kitchen table, with cupfuls of tea and warm bread on their plates. Like her smile, this love is freely given, doesn’t consider the worthiness of its intended recipient. Javert allows his heart to open up a little.

“As do I,” he answers, and loses himself in a countenance radiant with happiness.

-

When Valjean offers his spare room to Javert, he accepts the hospitality.

Valjean’s house is deceptively humble at first glance, but once inside, Javert can tell that the entire structure is made from the best of materials, durable and every piece shining like a mirror reflecting heaven’s glory. Just like Valjean himself, Javert muses. There is a simple antechamber, a kitchen, a washroom, a study, and two bedrooms. A rear door leads to a large garden. Like his mother’s sitting room, the antechamber is welcoming, with a fireplace that invites the weary to take comfort in its warmth. Sitting atop Valjean’s fireplace are two silver candlesticks. “The same ones,” Valjean explains when he follows Javert’s gaze to them, his voice reverent with wonder. “Recreated in heaven, but still the very same candlesticks that have guided me throughout my life.”

Javert’s room is next to Valjean’s. Valjean claims he has always wanted an extra room so he doesn’t have to live alone. But when Javert presses him on the names of guests who have stayed with him, Valjean’s face tinges red and he tells Javert that he is the first.

“Stay as long as you need,” Valjean says, not for the first time since they entered the house.

Javert silences the voice inside him that questions his worthiness of being shown such kindness. Instead, he looks to Valjean, notes how his eyes are shining with joy, and he thanks him.

Javert doesn’t decorate his room; there is still the possibility that he will one day find his house with a key taped to its door—though he feels no hurry to seek for it. But he allows Valjean and his mother to fill his walls with photos. New memories.

Usually, the same memory is made into two photos, one for Javert’s wall and one for his mother’s mantel. Javert’s mother likes the one of them taking tea at the kitchen table, a memory made one day when Valjean walked into mother and son laughing over a matter before either of them noticed his presence. Valjean’s favorite is the one of him and Javert walking shoulder to shoulder, taken when they approached Javert’s mother’s house one morning. Javert doesn’t prefer any particular photo over the others, but he keeps on his nightstand a photo of Valjean looking out of heaven’s door to watch his ghost self standing guard over the Seine, his first attempt at photo-making from past memories.

But there is one photo, above the fireplace of his mother’s home, that exists only in that house. It is placed side-by-side with the old photo of Javert the Toulon Guard, a perfect complement according to both his mother and Valjean. Whenever they agree on something together, Javert knows it is hopeless to dissuade them.

In this new photo, Javert stands, confident but not prideful, in the full regalia of his golden uniform as guard over one of heaven’s many portals. He doesn’t determine who enters—that is the prerogative of the mysterious man whom Javert now knows to be the Lord of the Universe. He merely enforces the rules. But though he fiercely denies it, Valjean has insisted that he’s espied him more than once turning ghosts away not with threats of condemnation but with gruff encouragement. According to Valjean, he is still unyielding in exacting justice, but the small measure of mercy he shows to souls who hope one day to enter paradise is like a guiding light in the midst of a sandstorm, a faint hope pointing toward a faraway future that, to a struggling soul, ignites far brighter than any desert sun can shine in its promise of nothing but death and destruction.

He believes Valjean, has learned to accept this as the compliment it is intended to be. When he finally tells Valjean this, the smile he is graced with makes his heart feel full, and Javert thinks he has found his favorite photo at last.

**Author's Note:**

> The animal that Valjean and Javert saw is a [bandicoot](http://a-z-animals.com/animals/bandicoot/). I've never seen one myself, but it's most certainly not a rat.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
